Maple Troubles
by pylime
Summary: "What are you supposed to do when life gives you lemons? I don't know, life didn't give me lemons. It gave me a brother who eats everything and country that doesn't exist that hates me and probably wants to kill me. And even more problems." A probable one-shot comedy about Mathew Williams being confronted with some everyday Canada-problems. Enjoy
1. My troubles begin with Alfred

I was not having a good day.

Not at all.

I didn't even really want to think about it.

The night had finally fallen over my strange little house with murals painted on it. I'm guessing I am rather talented and I had painted icy plains, wide prairies and dense forest. Of course, in the past when I had painted it, my fathers had not approved. I pretended that he had gotten rid of the murals for a long time, but now it didn't even matter. If my fathers were to come over, it would definitely provoke a strange conversation. I'm the kind of guy who likes to keep to himself. At the same time, I do not like the idea of being ignored and wanted to be known for something, as least once!

I leaned back in my chair, clutching a cold beer. I sighed and stared at the forest wall, past the TV screen that was showing commercials at the moment. My eyes followed the swooping lines and his drab, dreary and pale face lit up only slightly before falling back into darkness. I took another swig of beer and slumped further into his chair.

There was a sudden wrapping at the door that made me jitter.

"Come in..." I called in my odd weak voice. I had had it since he was little, like I choked on each word he said. Once I was criticised of sounding boring because of it, and awkward because whenever I wanted to yell, he ended up whisper-yelling instead. I don't really think about it anymore. It's just a fact of life. The door swung open and slammed against the wall like a cannon ball, making the frames hung up on the wall rattle and the carved totem poles in the corners of the room toddle.

"BRO!" my borderline identical brother called out and came loudly crashing into his house, trailing mud behind him from the rainstorm outside. His hair was wet down and his clothing was drenched and when he moved, beads of water flew off of him in sparkles of fairy dust. I stared at him, in slight shock, because his abrupt entrance had almost made me crash my fingers through the glass of the beer bottle. That could have hurt!

"What is it?" I tried to ask somewhat assertivly for once, but his awkward entrance made my voice squeak again.

"OH MY GOSH!" he yelled. "Its totally AWESOME bro!"

"What? What is it?" I asked, trying to project over his own excitable voice.

He raised a hand dramatically and reached into his satchel with a glint of his glasses and pulled out a bottle of beer.

"AN AMERICAN BEER THAT DOESN'T TASTE LIKE CRAP!" he boasted, waving the bottle around. "Catch!" He cried instantly, throwing the bottle up in the air. I let out a cry and placed my bottle down on the table next to me, right on the coaster. Something I prided myself of was my good co-ordination, from all of the hockey practise I have done. I reached up and caught the bottle out of the air, but it nearly slipped through my fingers because it was wet from condensation. I held the bottle up to the light.

"Well it looks okay..." I muttered, looking over at my brother through the cloudy drink. It was a bit of an odd colour though...I was praying to high heaven that it wasn't piss.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Taste some!" he demanded, beginning to advance on me. I was going to pop the bottle cap off and step back when his hand grabbed my elbow and he forced the bottle into my mouth. I don't know what was going through my head at the moment, but a I took a gulp of it.

It was positively disgusting.

Then again, leave it to my brother to enjoy something like that. Only a week ago, he came crashing into my house to tell me about deep fried hamburgers wrapped in pizza and deep-fried again. I feel weak to say I wanted to out-right vomit at the thought of it. Of course, I can't mess with my brother in any incidence, so a took a shaky swallow of it. Well, it wasn't urine...definitely tasted like beer...to an extent that is...I pulled the neck of the bottle out of my mouth because it was going to activate my gag reflex.

"It's...good..." I forced, hoping that would please him enough...he had inherited those irritable traits from Arthur...

"SWEET!" He laughed and pushed my elbow up and; before I could protest, the bottle back into my mouth. "Now you have to drink the rest, bro!"

I really wanted to tell him that it was my second bottle and REALLY wasn't a good idea, because I had a comedy show to go to in the morning tomorrow. If I had to go to it hung-over...

I just stood there though. Because I really didn't care anymore...

Finally the bottle was drained and I could finally BREATHE again. My brother took the bottle away from my mouth and smashed against the floor with an excited whoop. I flinched.

"I beat you brother! It's better than your beer, isn't it?" he persisted, punching my shoulder.

"Maple..." I whimpered. "I was already having a bottle of beer..." I commented, rather than answer his question.

"Whoa, really bro?" He asked with wide eyes. What was he so surprised about. He laughed again. "Dude, its like we share a brain or somthing! I mean, it can't be a coincidence that we were BOTH drinking beer!"

Last time I checked, I was the only one drinking any. But that comment...about sharing a brain...

I could tell that the colour had drained out of my face, because I suddenly felt stone cold. I gave off a strangled "Maple" again, rather than swearing. It took all my will-power not to start shrieking, but maybe it was my beer buzz. Me? Being anything like AMERICA? That did not sound possible! I mean, although people always tended to mistake the both of us; usually calling ME America...no. Just no.

"You okay bro?" I heard him ask through the veil of my thoughts. I jumped slightly again.

"Oh no! I mean, yes...I'm fine brother, really...!" I gave off a nervous laugh. He asked something off topic.

"Hey bro, is it okay if I bunk here tonight?" he asked, slauntering across the room and collapsing into a kitchen chair. I saw his feet rise up onto the table. They might have well been the morning sun. Except the "morning sun" did not drip with mud and rain.

"Oh...I guess..." I said quietly. "But not in my bed please..."

"Why not?" he countered. "Were both brothers!"

Don't remind me, I thought.

To be perfectly I honest, I wanted to whisper that he still sort of scared me...

"No brother...please...I have a nice comfy futon you can-" I stopped talking when I realised he wasn't listening and had stood up in front of the fridge.

"Aw man! I am starved!" He commented, jerking the fridge open.

I knew my brother all too well and that he always drained out things he didn't want to hear. He was constantly ignoring everyone.

Admittedly, I was ready to cry but instead I just let him do what he wanted to do, smiling awkwardly, even though I wasn't happy.

Out of the corner of my eye, he was piling up food in his hands out of the fridge. Some of that stuff was special! Netherlands had given me some nice Edam cheese. I was going to have it for lunch tomorrow. But I suppose that was okay. He could always bring some more next time he visits. I was actually starting to miss him, even if it had only been a few days ago that I saw him again. But BEFORE that, it had been literal months.

I didn't bother telling my brother that I was going to bed; he was too busy wolfing down most of the food in my fridge, like he usually did when he visits. I considered getting a second fridge to keep downstairs and stock this one up just for him. What he enjoys the most is the maple syrup and he puts it on LITERALLY everything. I hide most of my bottles and keep only one upstairs. Same goes for the beer.

I realised only now as I rose up the stairs how heavy my feet felt. I tried to ignore the fact that I might stumble and be dragged down the stairs by my lead feet. Thankfully, I made it to the top safely and went into my room.

I keep it fairly clean in here, when I can. I'm probably not the tidiest guy, but most things here have a place and that is where they are taken from and eventually go back to. I have a few more totem poles in here, because I love them. The beautiful carvings, the interesting patterns. Everything about them is something I love to represent myself with, despite my European decent. There is of course some speculation that I was discovered but something else, but the main country that raised me was Great Britain, Arthur... He never let Francis have much time with me and they always argued over me. I know a problem as old as this should be at the back of my mind at this time, but things tend to surface when you are feeling stressed.

I found my pyjamas as usual, folded up and siting neatly on my pillow. They are the soft ones with little maple leafs on them that I always wear during the winter because I tend to miss those beautiful red leaves and they are really warm and comfortable. My polar bear friend, Kumajirou had already gone to sleep hours ago. Its hibernation time for them, so he tends to go to sleep earlier and when I carry him around, like he always wants me to do, he falls asleep in my arms and heats up like a cup of hot-chocolate right out of the brewer.

Although I was feeling really tired, I had to be sure of a few things. Number 1; that my door was locked so my brother couldn't invade. Number 2; that the heating wasn't up too high because I was trying to conserve energy under all the pressure I was in in the first place. Not that I would ever not want to support the environment. I was after all trying my best...and Number 3, I had to be sure that I had brushed my teeth and gotten washed up so I wouldn't look like a total mess in the morning, but above all, it was just more comfortable to sleep when I was nice and clean.

Okay, first thing, door locked, check. Key put into pyjama pocket, check. I turned the dial on the thermostat and put the heat down a little. I was going to be pretty warm in bed anyways, with my pyjamas and the heavy quilt we had all sewn as a family many years ago, to celebrate our great achievement. I still feel really bad about it...when I see the other ones that we beat. But the tensions aren't even really high anymore. Final thing on the list was getting washed up, so I dragged myself to the bathroom door and stepped inside. The rain pattered against the window, turning into wet snow and swirling in endless circles. I looked over at the mirror and frowned at myself. The person staring back at me seemed so elderly, so tired and un-dead. It couldn't possibly be me, but I recognised the same bright eyes that looked across the prairies and out across the see. They had gotten no dimmer, even in the midst of battle. Or perhaps not. I honestly couldn't

tell. I picked up my toothbrush as my mind wandered. Of course, the top thing I didn't want to think of was my resemblance to my brother. Even now, I was becoming SO much like him it was scaring me. Even if we did act different, I was developing some of his tendencies. Now, I can't really judge my brother; he tries his best and has his great aspects. Like he says, he's a hero, but if he thinks he is better than everyone, he is sadly mistaken.

I streaked the tooth-paste across the bristle.

For people to associate both of us, it makes me really upset and I think my brother should probably care more. A long time ago when I was little, he tried to have me join him in his country but I was able to avoid him. I reasoned with him and I think that we were even enough. But that new thing that everyone is bragging about and making a big solemn completion of it, the whole thing with the environment, I was as bad as he was! I mean, he is sort of trying but sometimes I have to remind him to recycle and compost...not that he usually eats much that requires either. And now, because I'm having trouble with it, the other guys are hounding me, even my father! But I'm not going to think about it...and I am not going to cut my hair. If I cut it, it will look just like my brother and people will think I'm a clone. What they are is BLIND. All BLIND.

Suddenly I scream because I see something in the mirror behind me. I whip my head back and look behind me. No one is there. I'm a reasonable person but I actually DO believe in ghosts. There is enough to support their existence and I am standing by it!

"In here mon cheri." I hear a mocking voice and I look back into the mirror at a face staring back at me. Now, I am really confused. I have no idea who this person is, or if they exist but I can't control myself and I stumble screaming out of the bathroom and crash into the front of the bed. The room spins. I am really clumsy. As I look up weakly, my head is church bell, ringing out but no-one can hear it, except for me. So I look up, and I see him again. I'm pretty sure he's an illusion. But the shiver going down my spine tells me he isn't.

"F-francis?" I ask, choking and frozen with fear. I shudder and stare at the figure with wide eyes but I can clearly see a curl bob and I realise that who I am looking at could very well be me.

"Non, idiot! Don't you know Quebec when you see him?" The voice asked again. He definitely had a French accent.

"Qu-quit pulling my leg Francis!" I stammer. "I know it's you."

At this point, I'm in denial. I seriously am. This doesn't make sense! I am Canada, I don't have any other countries with me. There is America, Mexico and Cuba. Maybe someone else; I'm not even thinking straight. Then again, I did remember some speculation about this "imaginary country", but I'm pretty sure he doesn't exist and if he does, does that mean he's my SON? Quebec had never existed, as a country, as far as I was concerned. Yes, he has to be Francis.

"I am not France." he replied simply. I watched him lean into the light and stare at me with speculation. His hair was a blondish red. Rather sandy in colour. "Don't make that mistake. I am Quebec."

"But you aren't a country!" I protest, whining. Why is this happening?

He suddenly gets all aggressive and leans forward further until our noses are touching and I can see every aspect of him. His is wearing shades; probably prescription, and his breath smells like cigarettes and beer. It curls into my nose and I am tempted to cough, or do anything at all, but I hold my breath and stare into his shades. I have to admit, I am guilty of smoking a bit, but only every once and while and I am trying to reduce that.

"If you really are a country, shouldn't you be younger?" I ask finally, only considering for a moment the possibility that his guy is actually real and not some prank that Alfred had planned. It didn't make sense, because in theory, Quebec would have to be a part of myself, like how America's glasses were Texas and his-oh...I'm not going to mention Florida..

"Looking for these?" I hear him ask and he holds up my glasses. My glasses! I was wondering why everything was so fuzzy. I had left them in the bathroom beside the sink. Then he finally answers my question.

"I'm not young, because I've always been around, Mattie. And you know what?"

"What?" I whimper, getting a seriously bad thought about this.

He turns his head to the side and moves his mouth over to my ear. I can hear his breath hissing in my ear, whistling in my ear-drum.

"I don't like you." I hear him whisper. His voice sounds vengeful and frightening. It makes my nerves prickle and my hands shake even more.

He pulls away with satisfaction.

"It's too late for you, cause I'm already a country. I have my own government and one day, I'm going to take you over." Quebec threatens, starting to laugh.

I finally loose it.

"ALFREDDDD!" I scream at the top of my lungs.

In a few moments, I hear a loud thumping come up the stairs like a group of charging moose and Alfred crashes right through my maple-wood door, showering my dopple- ganger and I with splinters.

"What's wrong bro?" He asks franticly, and I can tell his mouth is full because his voice is hardly audible and his cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk's.

"Alfred, it's terrible!" I pay no mind to the door, although that will probably take some money to replace. "Quebec, he-"

"Dude, who is Quebec?" He asks, laughing, and cutting me off.

"One of my provinces he-" I continue, my words tumbling over one another and being halted again by his interruption.

"Dude, what's a province?" He asks another question and finally swallows a great deal of the food he was chewing.

"It's like a state!" I say desperately. "And he says he's a country and he says-"

It's my turn to cut myself off because I realise that Quebec is no longer here, just my glasses, sitting on the bed, reflecting my shocked expression.

I fall completely silent. Alfred looks at me expectantly, but I lower my head so I don't have to look at him.

"Never-mind..." I muttered, getting embarrassed again. It's a feeling that makes me feel queasy. Something hard slams into my shoulder and I jump, only to realise that Alfred was giving me a hearty pat on the shoulder. Bro love...it's enough to kill you, or at least make you piss yourself.

"You really can't handle alcohol well, can you?" He asks with humour in his voice.

"I can to handle my alcohol well!" I yell at him. What does he know!

He laughs again "oh, sure!" he says in his most sarcastic voice possible. I REALLY want to hit him right now, but he'll probably pin me to the ground and I won't be able to get up in the morning. He's REALLY heavy, and sometimes he sits on me. I remember hardly being able to breathe when he does that.

"Maple..." I sigh, finally giving up. But just to brush him off, I'm not going to answer him. Getting into some sort of pub-brawl is exactly what he or Arthur, or ANYONE else I'm realated to would do. If the alcohol kicks in now, I'm doomed.

I turn around and get down on all fours to crawl around and onto the bed. I get under the covers and let out a shaky sigh, burrowing my face into the pillow.

Go away, go away, go away, go away...I'm thinking to myself, aiming my super powered "Go away rays" at Alfred.

WHUMP.

The mattress jumps up into the air and up up up I go with it, screaming at the top of my lungs. The world slams back down and I can hear the totem poles wobble on the floor. My entire body is in tremors and the covers are all messed up now. I'll have to get out of bed and re-do my hospital corners. But then I realise why the mattress took its "leap of faith" in the first place. I realised a body was pressed up against me, because Alfred is a TOTAL BED HOG. It occurs to me;

Alfred...

ALFRED.

"ALFRED!" I scream in protest, and my voice sounds squeaky because I am still freaking out.

He just starts laughing and turns out the bedside lamp, leaning his arm wayyy over me and getting his armpit in my face.

"Nighty Night brother!" he says with glee and lies back down, still laughing at his jokes.

I grasp the comforter and pull it over my face. Why me...why me...?

I don't know if I can trust him. I have to stay awake, so he doesn't draw a mustache on my face and call me a frenchie or play that prank that makes you wet the bed or even something stupid like putting whoopee cushions all over the floor. I don't think he understands how LETHAL those things are. The last time he did that prank, I tripped on one of them and flew into the wall, slamming my face, getting a nosebleed and breaking my glasses. They took an entire week to fix! But the worst possible thing he could do is a NEW prank. I hate to say it, but my brother is really smart in most respects, he just jumps to conclusions and has really...odd ideas. Expensive ideas.

Suddenly I feel his arms around me, and i don't know WHY or HOW, but my face heats up. His snoring thrums in my ears. The big galoof is asleep. And he's bear-hugging me. Also known as SUFFOCATING ME. I know it was hopeless, but I let out a hoarse. "Heeeeelppppp...!" but of course no-one is around. That is probably my oxygen deprived brain talking right there.

What a nightmare!

Against my own will, everything goes fuzzy and the cushion, mattress, sheets and his arms slip from my vision as I fall into suffocating darkness...


	2. They only continue with Quebec

I can hear birds chirping...but that doesn't feel like enough proof that I am not dead. Of course, I feel Alfred is still practically on top of me. I open my eyes slowly, groaning from the light. It's a bright spring morning and I am not used to it. The reason for this is because most of the winter is spent in darkness. The clouds, the shorter days; these are all attributes of winter I have to live with. Of course, it is a beautiful season, and I feel privileged to have it. At last I open my eyes all the way, and grumble some jibberish under my breath to test my voice. My throat feels raw. The alcohol probably dehydrated me. Maybe I am dead. My head is throbbing like someone shoved it into a vise. That's it, I am hung-over. For sure. But I was fortunate that Alfred hasn't seemed to have woken up quite yet. No pranks for me. Huzzah.

Problem number one. Getting out of bed when you find yourself in a death-grip. My brother is a heavy sleeper, so I definitely won't wake him up if I try to squeeze free. I place my feet upright on the mattress with my knees up in the air and I try to wiggle and pull myself free from under his lock. One of my feet losses its footing and jerks back to its original position.

"MAPLE!" I screech, the pain is now throbbing in my foot, almost worse than my head.

OF ALL TIMES. OF ALL TIMES A CRAMP. A CRAMP SQUARE IN MY FOOT. So, I try to right my foot and stop the pain. I jerk my foot back and forth and back and forth and I hear Alfred smack his lips in his sleep and it sounds like thunder-claps because it was aimed into my ear. Finally, sweet relief flows from the nerves in my foot and I let out a silent sigh and try to squeeze out. The only problem is, I can feel his grip tightening on me like he doesn't want to let me go. So of course I try even harder, and as last I feel the arms just clamp over the top of my head slide my hair up and I am free! I nearly laughed by stopped myself when I realised how painful my throat was. I clasped it with my hand and let out a dry cough. No! I can't be hoarse! Not when I have that comedy show to do-now when was that?

I finally eased out of bed from the side as not to disturb Alfred, who was laughing softly in his sleep and slobbering on my pillow. Note to self, clean that later. So then I stood up, feeling rickety and marionette-like and staggered towards the calendar on my wall. It was a nature paintings one, very quaint. Alfred likes to steal it and replace it with a swimsuit model one. It's a really lame prank, but I am not going to argue with him. It is always pleasant to find my calendar and put it back up again. I press my hand against the spider web of squares and number s and trace down through the week to today. Today is Tuesday...right? Yes. It is. The day of the comedy show at...10:00 in the morning. Son of a...

Turning my head with horror, my eyes meet the little analog clock beside the lamp on the night-table. It reads...9:34!

"Ahhhhhh..!" I cry out very hoarsely and dash into the bathroom. I look like I just wandered out of a forest, after 3 days of MIA. My hair needs to be brushed, my face washed, my teeth brushed and I have to, HAVE TO do something about my throat! I squeeze the toothpaste from the tube with no co-ordination what so ever and while brushing the toothpaste drips down out of my foaming mouth and onto my pyjama top. Check that, I look like I just wandered out of a forest after 3 days of MIA, and I am now a rabid squirrel! So I grab a cup and fill it with cool water, or at least as cool as I can get it, and slosh the tooth-paste and water around before spitting it out and nearly missing the sink. The minty bullet shells splatter on the mirror and my clean freakiness kicks in. Must...resist...wiping it off! It's okay Canada...I tell myself. It's a-ok.

I take my glasses off and put them in my pocket because if some sort of demon or ghost is haunting my glasses, I have to be CERTAIN that it does NOT attack me again! On top of that, breaking them again would cause even more problems for me. At last I'm done almost everything and I am brushing my hair with one hand on the brush while the other fits a sock onto my foot before anything else. I'm basically jumping around on one foot, disoriented like a drunken pogo-stick (because I forgot to put my glasses on and it's too late now) trying to pull a brush through my mop of blonde hair with my left hand which by the way is not my dominant hand. I considered switching for a brief moment, debating on whether the sock was more difficult to put on than is was to brush my hair.

And at LAST, and I really do mean it this time, I am done and finally tightening the tie in the mirror. I don't want to skip breakfast so I dash downstairs and grab a cinnamon and raisin bread slice from the back. I stare at the slice for a brief and when I mean brief, I mean about 2 valuable milliseconds of my time. I vocalise my thoughts.

"OH COME ON..." I whimper, staring at the partly moldy bread. Disgusting! I imagine none of the other slices are any better...

Whatever, I'm hungry.

Now, mind you I did not eat the slice mold and all. As I got to my car, which is a little old fashioned and a bit of a clunker as my brother would say, I picked off pieces of the bread with mold on them and hoped the "Moldecules" hadn't infected the slice like a disease, because I was set to shove the thing in my mouth and step on the gas. I threw all the picked off pieces in the grass, because I know the ants will appreciate it. I can't tell, but they probably know I exist, unlike most people. Now isn't that sad. Even my bear doesn't know my name and yet ants are my best friends forever. I'm just king of the ants, aren't I?

Now I am backing out of the driveway, so I do another mental check-list. Striped tie, check. Shoes check, of course. Keys for the car; well, yeah. Glasses? I am really glad I remembered them at the last minute. Looks like everything I need!

I smile and roll the windows down slightly. I can finally appreciate how beautiful everything is this morning. The roads, leaves in the trees and roof-tops glitter like diamonds, rich with dew and water from the night's rainfall. It is still a little chilly this morning, but the sun is getting high in the sky and melting the snow that remains on the ground from the night before. I can honestly say that spring has sprung. Man, do I ever love nature.

I'm right on time so I turn the wheel and go down a country road. The clunker car sputters and grinds over the gravel roads, but I'm too happy to care. I'll be there really soon and everyone is expecting a good show. Out of curiosity, I open my mouth and try to say something like, it's a beautiful day and it is great to be alive.

It comes out like the hissing of snakes on medusa's head coming from a deep dark hole where any sound that tries to come from it would get muffled. So suddenly I'm searching like mad for a lozenge in the car. I keep an eye on the road, because that is my duty as a driving citizen to not run over little girls in the street. That should be everyone's duty, no matter how demonic their voice sounds before a big show that will determine whether I will be finally noticed or not. Maybe. The balance of all this hangs on a throat lozenge. Just a throat lozenge.

How can I possibly screw up?

Oh, I know how.

Try, taking your eyes off the road for literally a FRACTION OF A SECOND to pick up your prize that you found in the glove compartment. My hand closed around the little bundle of hope, and I looked up. Don't drive distracted, kids.

My heart stopped.

Brown dashed in front of the car, and big black eyes stared at me. They were heavily lashed and beautiful.

A scream escaped me and I slammed down HARD on the brakes and turned the wheel to the side. I don't know why, but at that moment, my mind felt so muddled up, I screamed. "JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL!" before I nearly ripped the wheel off its hinges, avoiding the beautiful creature of nature as it stopped in the middle of the road to eat some grass growing out of the gravel. Naturally, my car sailed straight over the ditch on the side of the road, like a magical dream, with me still screaming like a madman, and I made a beeline into the forest beside the road.

The car crashed into the undergrowth and I careened down a hill, naturally. The wind coming through the partly open windows tugged and tangled my long hair, but that was the last thing on my mind. I finally shut my mouth and let go of the wheel because I couldn't control the wild beast that was once my car.

I just looked forward and watched the show at my dashboard, unwrapping the lozenge. I tried to ignore the constant thumping and the fear of having a lozenge lodged in my windpipe. Branches and squirrels and nature stuff was slamming up against my car and I felt really REALLY bad. You have no idea how much I love nature. I paint it, I breathe it and I live it when I can. And now I'm making a beeline through it straight towards a lake.

Welp. Guess I'm soaked.

The car lurches over a bump and my glasses fly off my face and slam against the wind-shield. Remarkably, for the fraction of the second I am paying attention, I realize they haven't broken.

Can't say the same for me in

Three,

Two,

One.

**SPLASH.**

Water washes over me pouring into the car through the open windows. I am SUCH an idiot. I should have rolled up the windows, and then there wouldn't be water pouring out around me. Out of the corner of my eye, as the water keeps flooding in and gets up to my chin as fast as a wink, I see another figure dash out, squeezing through the opening in the window.

That's when I realise something. The water passes up over my mouth and nose and I'm holding my breath. I'm floating up in my seat a little bit, but I'm still wearing my seat-belt. What I realised was that I am not an idiot after-all, and I have sub-consciously saved myself. I reach down through the heavy and restricting wall of water and un-clip my seat-belt. My hands are straddled on the roof of the car and I move towards the exit, just barely squeezing through. Water starts to rush up beside me as I float up. I only have few seconds to think, and I've already sunk quite deep and my lungs are compressing on themselves. The first thing on my mind is to save my breath to maintain my buoyancy. If I let go of my breath now, the air will rise out of my mouth like little help blimps and fly away from me. As long as they are in my lungs, KILLING ME, I'm saved. A little bit oxymoronic, isn't it?

I go up, up, and further up past a school of bass and random sunfish or two. I come closer to the surface where the light is streaming down in heavenly ribbons.

I am saved. But I'm feeling light-headed. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second and takes a deep breathe out, releasing the accumulated CO2 from my lungs. It is a spiritual moment.

I am floating on nothing.

I am a bird, a little fuzzy dandelion seed floating in the air, a butterfly, a feather of air, a really stupid guy that should stop now because he's going to pass out.

I beat my hands down and break the surface, realizing at this moment just how GREAT breathing is! OH YEAH, take in ALL that wonderful OXYGEN. YUM.

Yeah, I've definitely lost too many brain-cells from holding my breath. I laugh. I'm saved. I'm saved...if I pass out down there; no-one will ever find me. I can't die of course, because I am a country, but if I'm not pulled out of the lake, I could be there forever.

I realize a second thing. THE WATER IS FREAKING FREEZING. And another thing-

Water washed back over my face again, and I had no time to hold my breath this time. Pressure is holding down on the top of my head and neck and I hear muffled laughter.

Someone is here with me, and trying to drown me.

I'm no baby. I've been in wars before, and I've done well, as far as I know. I help the other countries with war and peace-keeping too. It's not like I don't have any power what so ever. My mind switches to its fight reflex. It was a particular reflex that I had to dust off. Now I notice several things. The person drowning me is weaker. Through his grip, I can feel his arms trembling. He is trying hard to keep me down. I double up and flip in the water, submerging him behind me. The air rushes into my face and I breathe and cough before I am dragged back down again and we are both submerged.

Now it's just a battle of the wits. A contest of holding one's breath.

I get a good look at him, and recognize my doppelganger from the night before. He is glaring at me through the shades and I can see his dark blue eyes, remarkably, without my glasses on through the murk of the water.

Why is Quebec trying to drown me?

Oh, right, I nearly forgot.

He hates me.

He swims forward and tries to throw a punch. I am tempted to laugh because he has of course been slowed down by 50% by the water. I remembered just how hard it was to undo a seat-belt. I know that moving too much isn't wise when you are holding your breath so I remain in one place while he spazzes around in the water trying to hit me. The science behind moving while holding your breath is that your cells and systems of your body need oxygen to function. If they are all trying to function with additional movement as well as the beating of the heart, you are wasting up the oxygen stored.

His punches land on me, but I don't feel anything. He's still latched onto my leg and punching, punching, punching. After a few seconds, I feel his grasp loosen on me and he looks up at me.

His sunglasses have slipped down from his eyes and I can see his rage burning in them like scorching blue fire. His eyes are not mine. They are the eyes of another nation.

One different from any other nation I have ever seen.

Bubbles escape his mouth. They were his only and final hope.

His arms slip fully and he sinks down into the darkness, going half-lidded.

Honestly, I don't know what came over me.

This guy hates me, he might even want me dead. But I think of Alfred. You bet I think of Alfred. He is quick to judge, quick to act. If Texas became its own nation, he would probably let it drown in a heart-beat. Me, I'm supposed to be the rational one, the peace-keeper. That's probably why I'm ignored. You know, even Arthur would let his drown in a heart-beat too. But I'm not here to be like them. And I am not like them.

I am Canada.

And hey, maybe Quebec doesn't want me dead. Maybe he hates me, sure, but I've put up with a lot of nations like that.

I shoot down even though my lungs are getting their second beating. I grope forward in the darkness, fearing for him and fearing for me. If we are both lost down here, our entire country will be gone, considering he is sort of like a part of me.

I praise the lord and the world and everything else when I finally meet his flesh. His wrist. I grab and pull him up to grab his arm because I wouldn't want to sprain his wrist on the way back up.

Again the water shoots up over us, but the extra weight puts strain on my muscles. I kick with all my might to the top and we both break the water. I gasp out, but he's unresponsive. I feel a chill go down my spine, and it's not just that the water is freezing cold, but the fact that he didn't gasp as well worries me. He's passed out. If this guy is actually just a normal guy and not a nation, he's probably dead. Why on earth do I think about stuff like that at times like this! Never EVER think of the worst case scenario first.

I swim us to land where I gasp and cough and experience my muscles screaming with pain. I used to be in better shape...man, I feel so ashamed.

I can still try to help him though.

I place him upright and press my hands on his chest. I push down and do the proper procedure and all that. His head lifts a fraction and he coughs and spits up water. Halleluiah!

He's still dead to the world though.

I pull him into the sunlight and cross his feet over and turn him with his arm under him into the recovery position. Hopefully it helps. It feels like the only thing I could have done.

By now, I am wondering just how far we have crashed into the forest. I look up at the scar I left on the hill and realize it was even steeper than I thought. I can't see much without my glasses, but I determine that much. We might be miles in. I have no idea what time it is, but if miles in is the case, I'm pretty much screwed.

I whimper and bury my face in the grass. I don't want to look at anything anymore. I am just way too ashamed. They will all probably think I arrived, but I'm invisible or something. Maybe they'll pretend America is me, or something.

It makes me pretty darn mad!

I'm soaked, I was nearly drowned twice, my car is at the bottom of a lake and I'm late for my comedy show.

I'm not going to even ask if it can get any worse, because I know it probably will.

Hey all!~ First author's note and man oh jeez am I glad at how this is turning out! And I've received so much good feedback, wow! I didn't think I would.

Now, from time to time, I worry if I'm being a bit too stereotypical. It is really hard to depict Quebec. Now, don't judge me too soon, I haven't even really gotten into his character yet.

Poor Canada! He was almost on a roll with being positive and now he's put down again. I'm pretty sure we all have those days.

Now, I have no idea how often I am going to update, and I really hope that this story doesn't crash and burn. I actually extended the story a bit, so I hope you all appreciate that.

So how is the comedy? Do you find it funny? Should I change something? Am I being too stereotypical? How do you think Quebec should be depicted?

Read and Review my friends, read and review~

-Pylime ○


	3. What took me so long?

I was very pleased to see that Quebec did in fact make a full recovery. He sort of embarrassed me though because when he opened his eyes, every Disney princess I had ever seen came to mind. The long lashed eyes opening slowly, the rest of the face remaining still as if he was still entranced-I'm putting too much though into this, aren't I?

On the other hand, the moment he woke up, he wouldn't SHUT UP. The first thing he said to me when he finally came too was not a "Oh thanks, you saved me" or a "Oh Canada! Why didn't I realize you were actually a good guy and should totally not kill you?"

Yeah, of course he wouldn't say any of that.

He sat up, shaking like a leaf nearly torn from a tree and coughed some more. Quebec glared at me with half lidded dark blue eyes.

"You tried to drown me!" he accused, sputtering from his last coughing fit.

"You tried first...!" I retorted nervously, wondering if he would just reach up and grab my neck. It has happened to me before. Some of the other countries are pretty rough.

To my relief, Quebec grabed the sides of his arms and rolled his eyes. He was wearing a very short sleeved shirt, almost a muscle shirt and it was dark blue with a big white pattern on it. It was from the flag of Quebec, now, what was it called? Wow, no wonder this guy hates me. I don't know the first thing about him! Didn't I in the past?

"That's only because you tried first! What were you thinking you idiot; Plunging your car into the middle of the lake?" He continued to argue, placing his hands back on the grass and trying to get to his feet.

"It was an accident." I explained. "A deer jumped out in front of me in the middle of the street!"

"Well then, you should have been looking where you were going, eh?" he sneered, getting onto all fours and still trying to muster up enough energy to stand.

Ouch.

He was right. I should have been paying closer attention.

"Besides you big wuss, you should have just rammed the deer out of your way." he added, finally standing with a tree as support.

My jaw positively dropped at him.

"I can't kill a deer!" I cried. Not while I'm driving anyway, and I don't hunt anymore, it's unnecessary.

He just laughed jeeringly and pushed of from the tree.

Bad idea on his part.

His body feel back as stiff as a falling tree, right into my arms.

As he made impact, he grunted and his head hit my chest.

Quebec seemed startled and leapt out of my arms.

"I don't need your help you...maudit fif!" he yelled. I had no idea what he just said. It was like all my knowledge on the French language had just left my head. Poof!

Although, I can't imagine he said something very nice.

"Je vais te tuer! You concieted country you! You don't even realize there is a country right before your eyes!"

He gestured to himself and at this point, I just didn't want to argue anymore. For one thing, I could tell there was no winning with this guy, second, time was ticking and I was probably going to miss the entire comedy show.

So I began forward, putting him out of my mind. One big problem though.

I'm as blind as a bat without my glasses. And I don't have echolocation, Last time I checked and I'm not going to check because that would look stupid.

I have no idea how my eye-sight got so bad. It did as I got older I suppose, but even Arthur is older than me and he never wears glasses. It's really disappointing.

"Oh Canada? Your face is burning like your silly flag." Quebec jeered, snapping me back to reality. I jumped slightly and reflex snapped my hand up to my face. I really was burning up, but I wasn't ill so...

Wow, Quebec really embarrassed me. I frowned and felt it burn up more. Why?

I averted my gaze and continued walking through the land of blurs and blobs. It was like walking in one of those microscope slides with a bunch of bacteria. I didn't want to place my hands in front of me to feel my way through the forest, because that too would look stupid.

Suddenly, Quebec pipes up again.

"Looking for these?" He asks, holding up something very blurry. Could it be?

"What is it? I can't see." I ask, doubting he'll tell me. I lean forward for a closer look and he steps back.

"Personal space idiot!" he exclaims, but I see his blurry figure settle. "It is your glasses."

My glasses!

"Quebec, can you please give them back to me?" I plea, reaching forward. He grasps my wrist death-grippingly tight.

"Not until you make me a country." he said coldly, tightening his grasp. I wince and shake slightly over the tightening.

"But that's complete madness! I can't do that!" no matter how much he beats me up and black-mails me, I can't let that happen! I'm not ready for such a big change. Even now, I have no idea why he is here, and it doesn't feel good at all.

"Very well!" Quebec yells jeeringly. "Say a big, 'Au-revoir' to your eyesight!" and I see somthing blurry shoot up our of his arm and up up up into the sky, landing several yards away. I shriek and he lets go of my wrist, throwing my entire arm back to my side before I hear him retreating from the crunching up grass and see the greenery swallow him up. His laughter echoes all around me and I feel intimidated, as if every chuckle and bout could keep me shackled in place.

Now what?

I guess I have no choice; I have to find my glasses.

I have no clue what the best method would be, to be perfectly honest, so I get down on all fours and feel around on the ground in the direction I THINK I saw the glasses fly. But thinking can never as good as knowing.

It is a very tedious process, and I feel like I should be grazing, like a cow. No, I feel even more lowly than that-annndd...I just crawled into something slimy. Please be mud. Just please, for the love that is all good and pure, PLEASE BE MUD. Then, I remember a trick. Now of all times, when my hands and knees are covered in icky stuff. Perfect.

I curl my right hand into a fist and insure there is a little hole for light to peer through. I hold my fist up to my eye and in the little hole, I can see everything clearly.

Well Canada, you've done it again. You've managed to be smart at basically the LAST MINUTE.

So I continue crawling, like a sad impaired dog with only three legs, tottering all over the place. But heck, we all know a three-legged dog could do so much better than I am doing.

At last, I see my glasses, shining in the middle of the forest floor. I sling my hand behind me and scamper forward like a savage that hasn't eaten for days and just as I'm about to reach out and hold the beauty of eye-sight in my hands once more, I am confronted by pure blackness. A beak in my face. The beak opens and a loud CAW shrieks into my ears. I fall back, screaming and watch as the black thing grabs the shining windows of my last remaining hope and flies them up into a nearby tree.

It could be way worse. Yup.

The crow could have flown to a nest miles away. Or maybe this is a mockingbird? I really don't know. The species of this thief doesn't really matter.

I brace myself, because I have no idea what will happen. I'm going to try to climb a tree, basically blind.

Am I crazy? I think I am.

If a Canadian falls out of a tree in the forest alone, does he make a sound? Probably not. Even if there was someone in the forest, no one would notice anyways.

I crawl forward, latch onto the trunk and I try my hardest to shimmy up, but I'm shaking all over and I can't get a grip on this thing. Maybe if I took a run at it...but that would be dangerous without my glasses. I probably have only one option.

"Q-quebec! Help me!" I cry out. I have no idea where he wandered off to, and I'm worried about what he has to say.

"If I help you, will you give me what I want?"

I hear his voice, but I don't see him. It sounds like its coming from up above me. He's probably in the tree. Maybe he's been waiting there the entire time, like a ninja.

"Are we going back to the whole 'my own country thing'? Because you should know that I wouldn't be permitted to do that...Brittan would not like it..." I gave him a most awkward smile, unsure of what he was going to say next.

An then, he surprised me.

"I don't care what Brittan says! You aren't HIS country, okay? You aren't anyone's country, okay?" he spoke down at me. There was truth to that. Rather, a lot of truth. While I love all the other countries, even though they never let me input, I'm an independent nation.

"I mean," continues Quebec. "I see America push you around all the time, when and only when he notices you! Constantly asking favours and to borrow money-"

"And eating everything in my fridge. Yes, I get it. But we're allies. We're supposed to support each other!"

"Well? Does he support you in return?" Quebec asked.

The big question. I stared up at him, or at least where I thought he was.

"Well...I would ask more if he wasn't so...scary..." I admitted. "I don't really want to burden him eigther..."

"Un oeil pour un oeil!" Quebec cried. "If he burdens you, you should burden him back, oui?"

I blinked blindly at him. "I don't tend to follow that rule...but America...he's...well he's..."

The blob that was Quebec shifted slightly on the branch. "Oui? Spit it out!"

"He's blood thirsty! I'm so scared of him! If I contradict him too harshly, he'll decapitate me and feed my head to...to eagles!"

"Nonsense!" Quebec said.

"Yes sense! Have you seen what he has done before?" I retorted immediately. Quebec really didn't understand!

Quebec leapt down from the tree all of a sudden, landing in front of me. I screeched and fell back onto my butt again and stared up at his looming figure.

"Don't you remember what you have done before? As much as you'd like to believe it Canada, you aren't innocent." He said very seriously. Quebec tossed something onto my shirt. "Stand up. Think about it, eh?"

I grasped the object and ran my fingers over it. My glasses!

I placed them on my face and Quebec's grave expression came to view, his shades showing two small versions of myself, staring up.

"Remember the past Mathieu. You fought a lot. You fought for other countries, and you fought for yourself." he finished, still staring at me.

I got to my feet and looked him in the eye.

"I fought and hurt a lot of people. I still regret that." I confessed.

"That's no reason to be pushed around." he retorted. "When you get back to that comedy show, you are going to MURDER everyone with your comedy skills!"

A whimper escaped me. "How do you even murder someone with comedy...?"

"Anything is possible Canada. Anything is possible." he said solemnly and stepped backwards into the forage, his arms and eventually his stone cold and creepy expression being swallowed up. And then he was gone.

"Murder people with comedy...? Seriously?" I just stared in the direction of his awkward exit. "Oh, I guess he just means defeat."

Quebec sure was a weird guy, and for whatever reason, he believed in me. That was most surprising.

I got to my feet and continued walking through the forest. I passed many trees, landmarks that seemed the same and the same pile of rocks 5 times. Man, I'm disoriented today! I thought about how I might just wander through this forest for weeks on end. Be that the case, I might as well make the best of it. I tuned into my senses, closed my eyes and wandered blindly through the forest. The smells and sounds all became gradually clearer, rising like a symphony. The smell of wild flowers curled in the air, smelling sweet and pleasant. Up in the trees, hundreds of birds called off from far and wide and I could hear the thrust of their wings as they took to the air, each feather brushing on one another. The wind hissed through the trees, setting the leaves a-dancing. I heard more hissing, and...Thumping?

***SLAM***

I had opened my eyes way too late and walked right into a pole. I felt it vibrate like a music tuner and I stumbled back, almost falling back into the forage, my nose gushing blood. I rubbed my hands against my face and the blood smeared. A moan escaped me like a ghost and I got to my feet, grasping the pole with my warm wet blood covered hands. Gasping, I held my hand over my nose and looked up. I could tell that my eyes were widening to their extent.

By some dumb luck, I had stumbled out of the forest into civilization and then, sadly, into a pole. And right in front of me was the arts building. The exact building where I was to do my comedy show.

I wish I could have seen what I looked like as I scampered across the street like a nut-case, laughing all the way. The world shook and when I got to the other side, I bolted to the back door entrance and opened it wide with a swing of my arm. At last!

"WHAT YEAR IS IT?" I yelled, launching myself into the back-stage area. I grabbed the shirt of the first person I saw and grinned at him eagerly, perhaps, too eagerly. The person shrieked and tried to pull

"GERMANY! GERMANY! I couldn't find my seat and now some maniac is man-handling me and his face is all bloody and he's probably a canibal GERMANYYY!"

"Augh!" I exclaimed, comming to my senses, I let go of his shirt and dropped my hands. I had gone right up to and grabbed Italy by the collar. I'll tell you, it gave me memories...probably everyone in the course of history has beat up Italy. Poor guy...

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it I just..." I began and started laughing nervously backing away.

"Who even are you? I've never seen you before!" he cried out.

Oh, that question again...

"I'm Canada..." I say quietly yet again. Maybe I should start counting how often I say it...

Italy didn't stick around long and went off yelling and flailing his arms at full speed.

"Oh dear..."

"To answer your question, it's the year 2012."

I straightened up at the voice and looked over.

Arthur was standing there in his usual casual sweater-vest, watching me quietly.

"Oh...I actually meant to ask what the time is, I went a little nutty because I-"

I didn't continue because he cut me off.

"It's nearly 10 'O hundred hours."

There was a long and windy silence.

Yes, I know we're indoors.

"So...I'm not late...?" I asked, staring at him with disbelieving eyes. Wasn't I in the forest for at least an hour? Either I passed through a time rift or I'm going insane.

Going insane sounds good.

"No, but I suggest you arrive earlier next time." Brittan advised. "And clean yourself up. You look like a bloody nutcase!"

I started laughing again. "Oh haha, I get it I'm acutally litterally bloody but you're just using the term...bloody...when you're..." I slowed down gradually, realising he wasn't laughing along with me. "...cursing..."

He stared at me with his eyes somewhat narrowed, un-amused.

In an attempt to break this awkwardness, I gave a little cough as I cleared my throat.

"Well then...I'll just...you know...get cleaned up...un-bloody myself...haha..."

He kept staring. I kind of wanted to punch that stare in the face.

Instead, I just turned on my heel and walked down the hallway.

If he doesn't find me funny, how will anyone else? Am I really as funny as I think I am? Can I really do this?

Things were looking bleak.

I reached my dressing room and opened the door. I stopped right there. It was just a fake door. There was no room behind it, just more stage and some additional make-up tables where a few people were sitting.

I was supposed to have a dressing room...wasn't I?

At that moment I heard the un-mistakable laughter of my brother. He walked by where the rows of cosmetic tables ended, wearing a long robe covered in stars like a night sky drawn by a 5 year old. Alfred had dollar bills stuffed into the belt of the robe in a green leafy jungle and a little entourage followed him like baby ducks following their mother. The smallest woman held up a hamburger to him and he grinned grabbing it away from her and passing her some of the money from his belt. At last he noticed me and turned his head over with his mouth full and waved ecstatically.

"OH HEY BRO! I bought your dressing room to use it as my special hang out pad before the show! Hope you don't mind!"

He gulped the mouthful down and began laughing and waving as he continued passing like some regal prince or queen, minus the grace that is. As he passed, I saw one of the stars unstick and fall to the ground. Behind it was a maple-leaf. The original pattern of the robe.

I simply sat down in the first empty chair I could find, looked in the mirror at my bloody, cannibal-like face; as Italy had suggested it appeared which I agree with now, my messy hair filled with tree branches, and my tired eyes...

Slowly, I lowered my head down onto the table until I heard a small thump and pressure on my forehead.

There I wanted to sit for the rest of my life.

Hello one and all and thanks for subscribing to my story and reading my chapters! I really appreciate it.

I wanted to finish this story for Canada day, but as long as I finished it in this week, it's still sort of symbolic. I hope all my American readers had a great Independence Day! You celebrate hard-core, I'm told. By the way, I don't think Canada is the best country in the world, in fact, no country is. Yes, not even America, sorry guys haha, but you know, every country has the good and the bad and we celebrate these days for the positives and battles won, giving our country glory. I love my country and I love other countries too.

Again, I hope I'm not being too stereotypical. Quebec is hard to portray because all I know is there is a lot of tension between Quebec and the rest of Canada and the tension goes way way back in time to when Canada was first discovered.

This story is probably a one-shot, and the next chapter may or may not be the last. If I have a lot of support or requests, I might continue the story from there but this is all I first intended to do. I don't usually write short stories, but it's a good pass-time~

Thanks again and happy Independence and Canada day!~


	4. At last I can go home

I probably didn't mope for long.

I heard the 5 minute call and just suppressed a long cloudy sigh.

"Come back later..." I thought. "I'm wallowing in my self pity."

Eventually someone gripped my shoulders like a bird of prey and I whipped around to see who it was and came face to face with Brittain again. His candy green eyes stared me down and I shrunk back a bit. Normally I wouldn't do that but I tried to look at him with some courage.

"What are you doing Canada? Stop lolly gagging and get on-stange!" he snapped, prying me from the chair and pushing me towards the curtain. I wasn't ready for this.

"No no no stop I! I!" I began to protest but the shadows seeped away and the light blinded me like a deer in headlights. I squeezed my eyes shut and wandered out into the light pressing against my lids. At that point I knew it was seriously time to MAN up.

Even though all I felt like I would do is THROW up.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, squinting in the light and saw a full house. The second thing I noticed was no-one was looking at me, but I picked out some familiar faces in the crowd, like Italy, Germany, Japan, Lithunia, Poland, Prussia and so many other countries. They all came here to see me. I probably smiled a bit wider then I realised I was already smiling when I looked over and saw Francis. He was always supporting me more than the other countries in my familly, morally of course. I opened my eyes all the way and walked up to the microphone. Nothing but instinct from now on. My hands met the stands thin neck and I pulled the microphone off, watching the over head lights spark a shining star on the metal surface before I pulled back, wet my lips and checked for a water bottle beside me. Check.

I cleared my throat and spread my posture out a bit so I wouldn't seem so closed in. Comedy instinct.

"Good Morning everyone!" I called out into the mic.

I swear, everybody in the entire room jumped out of their seat. Some more than others. I bit my lip, realizing that they probably didn't see me as I walked in, hence the lack of eye contact. Now they all faced me, looking shocked and confused.

This was something I had worried about for the longest time, ever since that pen met the paper and I signed up for this thing, thinking I could show what I was really made of. How could I show what I was made of if everyone in the room couldn't SEE what I had to show?

"Hello. Hello. Welcome to Canada. I bet you noticed all the uh, maple trees on your way up, eh?" I began nervously, standing strong.

The crowd was silent. That was a horrible starter.

I cleared my throat again and took a step to the right, away from the microphone stand.

"Now, despite what a lot of people think, Canada isn't just all beavers and bears and trees and rocks. Most other countries have those things. And Canada is actually simaler to most other countries in other respects." I smiled sheepishly at everyone in the audiance, my mind drawing a blank as to what my orriginal script was.

It was it.

It was over.

I'm done.

All I could think about was what happened in the past 24 hours...my brother, the doppleganger, the hell I went through getting her with the deer and the lake...

And then it hit me.

"Just like everyone else, Canadians have problems. No, we aren't perfect, despite what a lot of people say, who are for the most part Canadian, we just have a smaller ego than most countries. America, your ego is BIGGER than your country. Its bigger than the world! But yeah, in Canada, we have problems too, but not normal problems. Just the other day, I'm sitting alone at home, drinking my beer when guess who. Guess who bursts in. None other than the country of an enourous ego and appetite, my brother America. I usually keep a fully stocked fridge, it has my common Canadian maple syrup, beer and beaver tails. That is our sole appetite. You can survive on that diet for years. It doesn't perish. So anyways, he just walks in with his muddy boots dripping, romps on in devours my whole fridge. I swear, that is what it looks like. If my fridge was a damzel in distress, he's the dragon." I go over every detail of the past few days. The ghostly Quebec, the deer, everything. The crowd is eating this up. Every once and I while I hear a small wave of laughter before it dissipates again.

The time passes, my confidence swells. I'm telling every single detail, hoping for their laughter when I want it. The time just flies by.

"So I'm standing here, with a bloody nose, a bloody face and hair that is 50% sticks to tell you all a valuable lesson." I stare at everyone in the crowd in turn, knowing that I have their full attention.

"Even if you are constantly troubled day by day in this life with things that make you want to rip your hair out. Your realatives, deer, lakes, bread, yes bread. Bread is not innocent. Bread gets no pardon. Right, even if you are troubled, you can always find a way out of that lake, out of that forest, out of your own nuttiness and into the spotlight where everyone learns who you are and then the rest of the day just...doesn't seem so bad. Thank you." I concluded, nodding to the crowd. The applause washed up around me and drowned me there on the stage. My heart swelled and I smiled at everyone there, placing the mic back in place. I hoped they had actually enjoyed my tale and weren't just clapping to be polite. At that moment I feel really ill so I turned and left the stage with an air of awkwardness, trying hard to breathe when it felt like I had inhaled rocks.

I stumbled into a dressing room chair, breathing hard, laughing to myself. I felt my face tremble. I was filled with fright that twisted in my mind like a great snake and also this overwhelming joy that made me float out of my chair. I felt like a broken and gutted toy that still had the wind-up key.

I felt like a lot of things.

A few minutes later I heard my brother take the stage. He practically ran onto stage and grabbed the mic.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" He yelled loud enough for people to hear him outside.

"Who is ready for one heck of a show?"

He did a fist pump and the crowd just stared back at him. This did not discourage America however, and he just went on. "What about those Chinese people, huh?"

I didn't look over but I imagined china going red in the face with embarrassment right about now, ready to protest.

"This is no time to be racist, brother!" I muttered weakly, actually looking over through the open curtain to him him standing in the light. Surprisingly, what he just said was the only thing. Brittan burst out laughing, now sitting in the crowd.

"Yes, what about him?" he crowed. I wondered if he was drinking.

Insulted, I heard China protest.

"You can't use me as a comedy act! Thats un-effical!" he cried, standing in his chair.

"Un-effical, smeffical!" my brother called out. "I mean, what about your sleeves? How can you do anything with such long sleeves? Chinesse people go out to do everyday stuff like mechanics and stuff and when you get your chinese goods shipped to America, you can never really guarantee whether or not your free Chineese person is stuck with their sleeves in the shipping box!"

I riot of laughter rose up from the crowd.

I never really understood why, but apparently insulting others could be considered hillairious if you secretly really dislike them. Or even if you don't dislike them.

"Not all of us wear long sleeves! This is a traditional outfit!" China cried out above the laughter. "I bet we too would get Americans shipped back to us, but they wouldn't even have to get stuck! Just be so lazy that they don't move off the boat!"

Before I knew it, everyone was in an absolute up-roar, rising like a wave over the room. Somehow France and Brittan had managed to get into an argument. As usual. And I just felt worse and worse. As this rate, everyone would forget about my act. My 10 minutes of fame were up.

In retrospect, the reason why I should have signed up to the show should have been because I wanted to have some fun and get out there a little more. But I was being selfish. I was here for myself...

I reflected on it, but in the end...

But what's wrong with that?

I pushed in the chair and went back onto the stage. I don't know what possessed me to do so, but I did. I swallowed hard and kept going forward.

I deserved so much better. I deserved to be seen. To be heard. To be admired by the other countries by such a good man I was. It made me feel...hungry. It was a strong desire that I couldn't shake.

At last I made it to the middle of the stage, feeling as though I had walked for an eternity. Through space and time...

Or something.

My hand reached out and I grabbed away the mic from my brother. I opened my mouth, held the microphone up, turned and..

Saw everyone in the audience.

Everyone.

It felt like all my insides had dropped down into my feet.

"Uh...uh...h-hello everyone..." I began, without knowing, adjusting the collar of my shirt. Everybody continued in the uproar. I forced myself to speak louder.

"Guys...I'm...its me...Canada." I did speak louder. As I cleared my throat I swung my arm back to my side.

"Guys!" I cried out, but it just sounded like a yelp. I shrunk back, worried about bothering anyone.

But who was I kidding? Nobody was listening. Nobody was listening as usual. At that point, I just about lost it there on stage.

"Everybody in this room be quiet, or...or...I will speak louder so all of you can hear me!" I yelled into the mic, but I imagine it came out much quieter than I thought.

I was about to turn and leave right then and there. Just drop the mic and forget about all of them.

Suddenly, I saw Quebec's face in the crowd. He looked up at me, frowning. Nobody noticed him at all. Maybe he was in my head. But by that logic, I was a figment of someone in this room's imagination if anyone cared to see me. Maybe I didn't exist.

Shock swallowed me when Quebec, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking shock his head and frowned deeper. He reached up and lifted the shades away from his eyes and made a straight face before going angry again. His lips moved.

He mouthed; "Get angry."

I thought about that word for a moment. I looked down at the stage and back up again. Was I even angry? Well, everyone had forgotten me. Was that okay? Was it okay to be pushed around by my brother, or anyone else? No! It didn't happen to anybody but me. Again, I felt selfish, but at this point I was figuring I had a right to be!

"I HAVE BEEN DEALING WITH YOUR CRAP TOO LONG!"

Utter and complete silence followed.

Everyone stopped, and stared at me in horror.

I actually shouted this time, my own personal thoughts bursting out of me, for the first time in who knows how long.

Everyone continued staring. Their eyes were burning on my skin. Every face with the same expressions, re-drawn all across the room.

I dropped the microphone. I didn't hear is shriek.

I stopped, I turned and I walked off the stage.

I walked home.

Everything was numb. My comfort zone was shattered and nothing felt real.

It was like I had broken a universal rule.

The roads were silent down that old dirt trail. The birds were still chirping away in the trees. It was still morning. The world was a beautiful place. The clouds rolled by in the sky and a gentle breeze tugged at my hair. Sweet smelling wild-flowers filled the sides of the road. Their delicate faces faced the sun and reflected some of the light. It was so serene I could just forget. So silent that the silence rubbed off on my mind.

I found my way back home. I had strayed too far this time. It was really no matter. I could just go home. Get some much needed sleep and clean up.

This day had never happened. I didn't care if it meant forgetting my moment of success. In the end, it didn't matter.

You know what? I was happy. I had a smile plastered on my face that no-one could take away.

Nobody would come and apologize to me at my door.

All you need to do is forget about all the bad things in life and then you will just feel...

It is good to be alive.

Hey everyone! It's the writer here,

So…is this the end? Yeah, I know it's probably a bit of a letdown so I will make one more concluding chapter that you may or may not read. We could just end this short story right here and nobody would mind. I was just trying to be realistic, but it ended up sort of being a slice of life type of story…heh…

But I'll be honest, it was even out of my comfort zone to make Canada yell into the microphone, as I was trying to be as canon as possible, but it could be accepted at one point. You can only push a guy so far until he snaps. And it's a good thing that I didn't give in to write a snapped Canada fic! I'll admit, I was tempted.

If you guys want an alternate ending, or for me to write any further, you may ask. It depends on how many people want it. Even if it's one person.

This story is dedicated to anyone who has never felt heard by others or has gone through some pretty unlucky and horrible days. We all have them.

This is probably not the only fic I will write and I consider it to have been great practise!

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing everyone. It makes me really happy to make people laugh and enjoy themselves.

-Pylime ○


	5. AUTHORS NOTE!

**A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR:**

Hello all! I know it's been a while since I've updated Maple Troubles and I said it would be a one-shot and end horribly like that and such but I've been thinking of perhaps continuing the story and seeing how it goes! It has been very good practise in the past for comedy writing, and I hope to make it better. So I recently got more Ideas on how to continue this so, I'm honestly considering it!

I can't say when it will be updating exactly, because inspiration and creativity is a finicky thing.

But above all I want to thank everyone for supporting this story because it just felt really good to see people laughing and enjoying it, so I give my thanks, and I'm doing this for you.

So Quebec will be returning as well as many other countries and of course Canada! Again, if anyone has any issues or feels offended with anything I have written, I am willing to listen to what you have to say and change anything if need be. It's a bit tough when you are basically talking about countries, but I try not to be racist (or favor my own country too much aha…) there has to be a balance so rest assured not everyone is horrible or really good.

So with that, I hope to be writing again very soon!

-Pylime


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